DISPICABLE ME

…Cute movie, I know, but this isn’t about a movie. It’s about a great many other things and whether or not I fall under the term “despicable” in some, many or all cases of my life. Fear not my friends. I will not ask you to weigh in with your opinion of my life and if I qualify for such a title. I’m merely using this moment to sort a few things out that have come to my attention of late and determine if there’s any importance attached to them in the broad scheme of things. Everyone has done things in their lives that, at one point or another, have later regretted doing or not doing. Some by design, some by accident and when the misdeed is discovered we all try and reconcile the transgression with the parties involved. There are always things we could have done or should have done better or differently or things we wished we had done when we had the chance. Why? Because we’re human and humans make mistakes and as a human we want to feel liked and accepted…unless we’re sociopaths or is there possibly another explanation or two out there? I have been called many things in my life due to my often blunt (and equally cruel) honesty. “Curmudgeon” is one of my favorites. It’s not that I’m incapable of diplomacy it’s just that on many occasions I either can’t see the need or have the patience for it. There’s no point in blowing sunshine up someone’s ass while telling them they’re acting like an idiot. Many a person who has sung my praises as a writer, diplomat and statesman over my life has also been cut off at the knees mid-sentence more than once as well. If I’m right…I’m right. It’s seldom a “shoot from the hip” answer and I will always be happy to show you where my informed opinion came from. If I have no opinion about something or have heard something as hearsay…you’ll know that. If I’m wrong about something and you can prove me wrong I will willingly admit it without anger, embarrassment, guilt, bruised ego or reservation and you’ll know that too. If you try and bullshit me or give me an “I’m right because I said so” answer…you’d better run for cover. I have often been accused of having a somewhat Jekyll & Hyde personality. Life of the party one minute…distant and quiet the next. Gracious and accepting then an hour later arrogant and insulting…guilty on all counts. I’m the guy who really cares about and enjoys the people in my life yet appears to not really give a shit about anyone or anything even though people are constantly amazed at what I observe, note, comment and write about generally with a great bit of humor thrown in. The recent additions of a whole bunch of meds I can’t pronounce have balanced some of that out along with my readings and studies of late. Add to this disparity I was recently called a “pseudo-intellectual” by someone recently and I found it more amusing than insulting. That’s like saying I’m half an intellectual which based on recent findings I have only half a functional brain may be truer than that person realized and maybe I should take that as a compliment as well. Regardless it got me to thinking…what exactly is an intellectual? So I looked around and found this. According to Wikipedia an Intellectual is: An intellectual is a person who uses thought and reason, intelligence and critical or analytical reasoning, in either a professional or a personal capacity and is 1).a person involved in, and with, abstract, erudite ideas and theories; 2).a person whose profession (e.g. philosophy, literary criticism, sociology, law, political analysis, theoretical science, etc.) solely involves the production and dissemination of ideas; [1] 3).a person of notable cultural and artistic expertise whose knowledge grants him or her intellectual authority in public discourse. I had never given the term much thought before but now that I know this I’m glad to have been called one…or at least half of one. I now feel obligated to pay more attention to what I say…not. In the same excerpt the highly regarded literary critic Edward Said was quoted as defining “Intellectual” as: “(The)…real or “true” intellectual is, therefore, always an outsider, living in self-imposed exile, and on the margins of society.” I agree and disagree with that statement. It partly explains the duality of my personality but not completely. The very lifestyle I have led most of my adult life has made me and all of us who share it an outsider to generally accepted society. It has caused us to seek out different social avenues than mainstream society which is most definitely in the margins in spite of the fact that there are more of “us” than there are of “them” these days. Yet having said all of that we are hardly in self-imposed exile. In order for us to grow and survive we must be fully engaged in life at all levels and plan our journey accordingly. I cannot write about or make an informed opinion of what I don’t observe and experience personally and neither can you or anyone else. As a writer and painter I have to detach myself from what I see so that I can make sense of it and create something of it…that creates distance. As a human I need the tactile validation everything in front of me exists…just like you do. I am my own person and that causes disparity in some circles as well. People don’t know what to do with people who travel to the beat of their own drum. I can be abrasive just by being myself and dressing how I want to dress. In a recent posting on ARTINFO.com the interviewed the long standing fashion and style icon Iris Apfel who at ninety is still an influential force and they asked her this question. Why do you think more people are obsessed with your style now than when you were younger? “I don’t know. I could say maybe they’re getting smarter. I think there’s a trend now — they don’t actually do it — for originality, one of a kind, and of being your own person. I think it’s a combination of things. I think it’s the fact that I’m older now, and people think that when you get older you’re supposed to roll up into a ball and not get dressed and not do anything. I think people are more interested now in mixing and matching. It’s a different attitude.” I know what she means. My entire life I have fought to avoid cookie cutter clothes and look like everyone else…an issue that can get you ostracized in our little world and possibly fired in the vanilla world if you don’t comply with “the rules” of engagement spoken or otherwise. On the other side of that coin…I’m too young to look and act old either. I’m nearly sixty years old. I’m too old and not vain enough to think I should look and dress like a thirty-five year old yet I don’t also want to look like somebody’s nerdy boss or favorite grandfather so finding my own place, my own style somewhere in the middle is important to me. That also means exercising good taste, a sense of self and something of a fashion sense. I feel I’m entitled to that. The opinions of trend setting lemmings and the clueless mean little to me and really don’t give a shit what they think about it. I also have no issue in my making my disregard of their opinions known which hardly makes me popular at many times. I’m one of those odd people who value the arts, literature, music, dance, sports of all kinds, growing your own food and knowing how to prepare a meal that doesn’t come from a box or a delivery person and isn’t cooked in a microwave. I love lively discussions about those things and more at long tables with bottles of wine with people who can think for themselves, have opinions and aren’t afraid to ask questions or even disagree now and then. I detest schools marginalizing all of those things over what it takes to pass some test to get the school more federal money and so our kids can text message five letter messages faster on their smart phone. It’s pathetic the phones are smarter than they are these days. Survival of the fittest has upgraded. It used to mean you didn’t get eaten for dinner while hunting for yours. Now it’s you didn’t get killed driving while texting to go grab some fast food. Does all of these issues make me despicable? I dunno…what’s more I’m not sure I care either way but I am curious though in a perverse way. What does that make you?

CHICKEN AND DUMPLINGS

Tonight we’re having chicken and dumplings. This is hardly something that should be relayed to the news services to be sure. It’s just a fact that after surveying the pantry and refrigerator I had limited resources available to create dinner with and this was what I came up with on the fly. I’m sure it will be tasty. It generally always is. I have been told by more people than I can remember that I’m a better than average cook and many of my recipes are highly sought after when I’m willing to share them. Tonight’s meal will be no different than any other of the thousands I’ve made in my life so far. It will mark no milestone or set some statistical record to be used by politicians, journalists, scientists, theologians, bombastic talk show hosts of all stripes and the quacks who call in with their moronic opinions to validate or invalidate whatever subject is at hand on anything and everything. When the sun rises tomorrow candidates will still be unconsciously proving they’re too stupid to be holding public office at any level regardless of party affiliation, journalists still won’t report the facts in and unbiased manner but spout the opinions of their bosses and themselves, scientists still won’t know much but spent a lot of money finding out they still don’t know anything (I’m still waiting to find out if gnats really do fart and if it could be the next energy supply), theologians will still say that if you read some artifact backwards, upside down or sideways it proves their religion is the true religion and everyone should follow it or get blown up or shot and talk show hosts will still resort to playground tactics to get a rise out of people. The ones who listen to them will still be in line…because they got a card in the mail that said they may have won a new car or a set of steak knives if they get a lobotomy before such and such a date. I’ve been blessed (or cursed depending on how you look at it) with the ability to identify trends before they happen and in most cases have been able to make the most of it. It’s hardly savant like intuition. If it were I would have long predicted my current medical situations and even though I couldn’t have prevented them I might have been able to make them more bearable for my family and myself. I’m great at making lemonade out of lemons but not so great at picking the next Triple Crown winner for this very reason. I can tell you when something is going to be hot, important or work but I can’t tell you how or why…I just know it to be true. I can’t sleep some nights because my mind won’t turn off because everything bounces around in what’s left of my brain at light speed. I have a “pharmacopeia” of pills I take every day to help with that and all they really do is fill my stomach so I don’t need breakfast or dessert and makes me want to take long restless naps during the day yet I can tell you when something is right or “rotten in Denmark”. They do little, if anything, to help me make sense of it all. I’m not really sure there’s anything to be made sense of anyway. So…tonight we’re going to have chicken and dumplings for dinner. I found some chicken in the freezer, some celery and carrots and an onion, salt, pepper and a few spices. They’ve been cooking most of the day and pretty soon I’ll strain the stock, debone the chicken and then add the chicken, a potato, some fresh veggies, cream and a little corn starch into a big pot and let it simmer for a while before I add the dumplings. The kids will disappear for fast food and avoid cleaning the kitchen while my wife and I settle in for dinner and a little TV before I give up and go upstairs to try and sleep. Tomorrow, I predict, will be pretty much the same as it was yesterday.

TRAVELS WITH YODA PART VI

It was a dark and stormy night…well…OK, it was a not so dark but stormy afternoon when I sat down to write this missive which kept getting interrupted by life in general over the past several days. I put on my vintage “Joe Cool” t-shirt I had retrieved from the storage shed last weekend (more on that later) and settled in to channel my inner Snoopy to make sense of everything that has happened since I last posted on here. Much has happened lately yet very little of it is at all noteworthy so we’ll try and skip as much of it as possible and stick to the highlights…such as they were. You see, life has become, somewhat, tediously predictable these days for me and I have a reputation to uphold so this poses an unthinkable dilemma I may not be prepared to face. As resident curmudgeon it is my job, nay! It is my privilege to be the pain in the ass conscious to the world at large and call us all on our shit. It’s difficult to do when I’ve been reduced to napping most of the day lately and making stuff up isn’t nearly as fun and interesting as the stupid shit we actually do and say these days. The lives we hold so seriously dear are so much more comedically retarded than I could ever invent regardless of how many drugs they put me on. Yet my duty is clear and I must report what I have discovered along with, my not so faithful, friend Yoda at my side. So this is the cross I must bear as I have navigated the waters from my last port and message to here and what lies ahead. The past few weeks we’ve been in “Transition Mode” moving from one place to the new one. It will be a nice place once everything is settled. We decided it was best to move in phases to prevent stepping around mountains of boxes. I have been dispatched to a corner of the couch where I am allowed to do little more than look forlorn, drool relentlessly until someone gives me a sympathetic pat on my head and look at porn on my laptop (stop laughing…you know you do too). At the speed were going at we’ll be done unpacking by my birthday next year or just in time to move again…whichever comes first. I was finally allowed to go to the storage shed the other day and see if we couldn’t find more of my clothes and some much needed art supplies. I’ve been relegated to a very minimal wardrobe the past few months and for someone like me…that just doesn’t work. The experience nearly killed me and I paid for it by sleeping almost the entire next day but I don’t look like a transient anymore…sorta. The rest of my time seems to be divided between doctor’s visits and going to Wal-Mart to get my prescriptions filled…a journey I sincerely dread. I fear Wal-Mart more than I fear clowns because Wal-Mart customers are scarier. They’ve been tinkering with my meds lately that has caused me to consider Professional Napper as an occupation when filling out all of the damned forms I’ve been relegated to completing lately in an effort to get my disability issues wrapped up. By the time I get done doing so not only will I get a check (making me a government employee) but I’ll be eligible for retirement, probably have a security clearance and a key to push “THE” button…who knew! They always at some point ask you the same stupid questions about whether I’ve felt like killing myself lately. I can honestly say no but all of these forms and the new meds are certainly causing me to consider world domination… I went back to see my little dermatologist the other day. Yoda was restricted from going. It seems Yoda’s light saber was little more than a glow stick and was the result of a short and embarrassing first (and last) date. I hadn’t noticed on my last trip there but the whole staff in the office is about as diminutive as the doctor is. I felt like I had just stepped into OZ and the Munchkin’s were going to break out a rendition of “The Lollipop Guild” as they led me down the hall for my cancer surgery…and I hadn’t had any drugs yet! Once seated in this very cool chair (I’ve gotta get me one of those) the nurse injected my face with God knows what but the left side of my face went numb down to my arm pit…it was great. Then my pixie-like Dermatologist entered in with a glowing light surrounding her as she flitted around the room leaving fairy dust everywhere (I’m pretty sure that’s not sterile) before covering my face with a towel and whacking half my face off with a machete built for a two year old then slapped a temporary bandage on my face and sent me back out to the lobby to scare the hell out of the other patients. Once satisfied they had gotten it all they brought me back in, injected my face with fun stuff again and began stitching me up. It was quite an interesting experience. My face was getting pulled in every imaginable direction to the point that I’m pretty sure my ear was somewhere near my nose for a moment or two. I couldn’t imagine how such a tiny person like her could do such feats so I cautiously opened one eye. I was horrified to see her next to my chair with a deep sea rod & reel in her hands pulling like she was trying to land a marlin in an effort to close my sutures more tightly. I quickly closed my eyes and started thinking of clowns to feel better. When everything was done and I was all patched up she set up and appointment to take the stitches out (this should be interesting) and to do a full body scan of me because “where there is one cancer there are probably more” as she put it with an evil smile on her face as she buzzed out the door and out of sight. A couple of days later while, once again, feeling bruised, battered and beaten up by a pigmy I went to my eldest daughter’s tenth birthday party. One of her “aunts” gave her three water guns about two feet long and an inch and a quarter in diameter made out of transparent colored plastic. Inside is a plunger attached to a handle the shape of a billyclub with the idea being you put the squirt gun in the pool draw the water in and push it out through the end shaped like a plastic crayon point. Sounds fun enough. Being the loving, protective and always vigilant grandfather I am I took one look at them and asked…”where’s the lube?” as my mind raced back to my dermatologists evil look and the prospect of a full body scan…If I see that damned water gun anywhere in the building I’m going to re-consider taking up jogging…with or without my pants on.